Nor were his Beauties to his Art confin'd;
So justly were his Soul and Body join'd,
You'd think his Form the Product of his Mind.
A conqu'ring sweetness in his Visage dwelt,
His Eyes would warm, his Wit like lightning melt.
But those must no more be seen, and that no more be felt.
Pride was the sole aversion of his Eye,
Himself as Humble as his Art was High.
Oh! let him Heav'n (in Life so much ador'd)
Be now as universally Deplor'd!